


Courtroom Action

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2019-11-24 01:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: There's something extremely sexy about a man in a suit, striding around and speaking authoritatively…





	Courtroom Action

**Author's Note:**

> At [](http://lemondrop34.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lemondrop34.livejournal.com/)**lemondrop34** 's request, inspired by this. (It's a 4.6 MB .gif, so open it in a new tab or window, then return to it to watch the beauty in motion.)
> 
>  
> 
> _[Import note: I can't remember which gif this was, and the link was dead. Woe and despair]_

She's not allowed to come sit in the gallery at court anymore. 

It was a spur of the moment thing, a last-minute decision, that brought her to sit in the gallery of the court proceeding in which Mark was participating that day. It was as low profile as his cases got, which was to say not particularly so, centring on political asylum or something else he'd mentioned in passing but she hadn't really heard.

She was interested most in seeing him work. She had never done so, and with all talk of how effective he was in the courtroom, how he could reduce officials to near-nervous breakdown, her curiosity could no longer stand not having first-hand knowledge. She especially did not want him to know she was there, as he had told her more than once that he liked to keep her out of the sometimes sordid details of the cases he worked with, liked to keep her out of that part of his life for his own sanity.

She understood. It did not mean she was any less curious.

After speaking to Jeremy and being assured she'd be given permission to attend, she sat off to the side with a pretty good line of sight to court proper, but not obvious and distracting to Mark in the course of doing his job.

Just before court was declared to be in session, Mark entered and took his place near the front. He had on his wig, which was distracting for a moment, but what she noticed most of all was his crisp suit, the dark navy with fine white pinstripes; how exquisitely tailored it was to his body, how the pull and the nap of the fabric seemed to accentuate his form. When they all rose, she didn't right away, not until her line of sight was broken when the individual sitting in front of her stood.

It was not like she didn't see him regularly, whether dressed in his fine suits, tangled in bed sheets or with nothing at all on, but there was something about the charged atmosphere of the court coupled with his impossible-to-ignore presence that meant she could not take her eyes off of him. 

As they sat again, she watched him raptly. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he had more than adequately prepared his arguments; that tone was deadly serious, firm and lecturing, his speech peppered with huge legal words that she did not fully understand. None of this that mattered next to watching the fabric of his suit pulling tight against his midsection as he gestured; watching him without conscious thought unbuttoning then buttoning his suit jacket as he sat and rose again respectively, giving her a glimpse of the finely fitting vest beneath that jacket; watching the long strides of his long legs as he paced around orating his case. The net effect of it turned her on incredibly. The final straw was when he addressed the judge with one hand on his hip, the other motioning in the air; she was given a perfect view of his perfect bottom clad in those tailored trousers. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat; it was going to be a long wait until she got him home.

Imagine her surprise when the judge called unexpectedly for a recess for one hour; they rose again as the judge and barristers filed out, then she, not particularly caring to reclaim her seat, filed out too in search of Mark's chambers.

She knocked at the door impatiently and insistently until it swung open; she was greeted with a cross, "What do you—" until he realised precisely who was at his door. For that brief moment, though he had doffed the wig, he still wore his court persona, gruff, slightly brittle and unwavering, and in that brief moment she felt her pulse race faster.

"Hi, Mark." Taking advantage of his surprise, she pushed past him and into the room. He closed the door.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as he turned to her, then amended, "I mean, it's always lovely to see you, but I'm in the middle—"

He stopped short when she came up near to him, running the flat of her hand down the front of his suit, reaching for the button and flipping it open as he'd done so many times in the courtroom. "I came to watch you work today," she said simply, her hand rising up again to caress his face. "Bloody fantastic."

Clearly he was confused; he was not used to this kind of praise in response to his work in a courtroom. "Thank you."

She brought both hands up and around his midsection under the jacket, her fingertips playing along the fabric of the vest, until meeting just over the valley of his spine. It was then she reached up on her toes and took his mouth with her own to tease him into a deep, hot kiss. When at last she broke away, she whispered, "Bloody sexy."

"Bridget," he managed, his voice trembling with a restraint she'd heard before. "I'm only on recess."

"Yes, for an hour," she said, "and I really want you right now."

He said nothing, just studied her face with amazing intensity, until she felt his hands slide down her waist to cup her arse and pull her into him. A smile slipped across her lips before she could stop it, before he dropped his head to kiss her again. One thing she was grateful for was the power she still had over him when it came to sex; perhaps it was all of those years previous with cold-fish women that made his will weak when it came to making love to her.

He broke from the kiss to trail his lips down along her jaw, then moved and quickly took her earlobe between his teeth, making her gasp. Simultaneous to that he reached to pull up her skirt, then walked her backwards until she felt something solid at her back before fumbling with his own fly. 

She felt his hands tugging down on her panties; his fingers dipped to the heat between her legs as she reached through the fly for him. He pressed himself against her, his erection firm on her hip, as he kissed her at length again, moving against her in an extremely stimulating way. She splayed her hands flat against the wall, found it was not a wall at all as her fingers travelled over the spines of his many law tomes. As his hand went to the back of her thigh, she sighed, secretly hoping that the bookcase was well-secured against the wall.

"Mmm," he murmured in a rather husky, guttural tone, pressing against her heat, eager to surge forward into her, but holding back. 

"Mark," she muttered as she lifted her leg, as his fingers trailed around to her hip again; she did not understand what he was waiting for.

"Ms Jones," he whispered hotly into her ear, "what brought you to court today?"

Christ. He was interrogating her. She arched forward, sighing again. "To see Mr Mark Darcy."

His fingers teased the sensitive skin of her thigh and between her legs, but did not drive them into her; she moaned. "And what was so different about today that brought you here?"

"I _really_ wanted to see Mr Darcy," she managed between stilted breaths.

"And what did you think about what you saw?"

"Amazing," she said, drawing out the Zs as she brought her lips close to the corner of his mouth. "I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. Couldn't stop thinking about getting him alone."

"And what were your intentions upon getting Mr Darcy alone?" She could feel him nudging against her, could tell it was taking everything he had in order to hold back and not push into her.

"To feel that suit with my own hands," she began breathily, "to unbutton his jacket with my own fingers, and, given the chance, to shag him senseless."

"If it please the witness, and with the court's indulgence," he said huskily into her ear, "I shall now demonstrate what Ms Jones means by 'shag'."

"It would please the witness exceedingly—" she began, but stopped to moan when he pushed forward into her, as he lifted her up off of her feet. He himself grunted and growled as her legs encircled his waist, as she dug her heels into him, hoping to lend a little more power to his thrusts. She bit on her lip to try to quiet herself, but could not stop a few vocal cries from escaping her throat as her climax built and built, culminating with a shower of stars dancing behind her eyes; as worked up as she'd been before even laying a finger on his suit button, she'd known it would not take long, and she'd been right.

What did surprise her was the enthusiasm he was showing for this endeavour; he seemed to forget where he was, where they were, and his own impassioned sounds were more unrestrained than she would have thought for being in his office. She knew the moment he came by the way all muscles in his legs and back tightened, the way he went perfectly still as he held her closely and firmly to him. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she turned her head to find his mouth and to kiss him again, to capture the soft, almost vulnerable sounds he made just after he was spent.

He broke from the kiss and let out a long slow breath, burying his face into her hair. He lowered her just as she brought her legs down, standing on quite unsteady feet. "Jesus, Bridget," he said in a scratchy voice; it was not a condemnation so much as awe. She giggled.

"Think that will get me through the afternoon," she said, "and you—"

"Oh, damn," he said, backing away from her, zipping his trousers, running his fingers through his hair. "I have to go."

"But it hasn't been an hour yet."

"You don't understand. I was on my way to meet the judge and the other barrister in the judge's chamber before you… detained me."

"Oh," she said. "And I was going to walk back with you."

"No," he said. "You must go home."

"What?"

His voice went a little hard again as he buttoned his suit jacked, smoothing down the creases over his abdomen. It was sexy as hell; she found herself thinking lusty thoughts yet again. "And I never want you attending another procedure, trial, et cetera, in which I am taking part."

Now she was hurt. "Why?"

He stopped and looked up at her, then went over to kiss her briefly on the mouth. "Because it is far too distracting knowing you are, or might be, out there having salacious fantasies about me." He looked in her eyes again. "Promise me."

She smirked, knowing that what she'd seen that day was enough to fuel her fantasies without the benefit of him striding around in front of her. "I so swear."

_The end._


End file.
